


Waiting for the Picture to Develop

by tommygirl



Category: Roswell (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Alternating, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommygirl/pseuds/tommygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Maria have a fight.  Maria is sick of being the one to let it go and Michael has no clue what to do most of the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for the Picture to Develop

**Author's Note:**

> Written For magelette for the Roswell Ficathon, who requested Michael/Maria, a happy ending. This story was like pulling teeth and then it took on a life of its own and became "the story that wouldn't die." For some reason, I also made the decision to play around with POV during this story...so I hope it works and doesn't suck too badly. Set during season two timeline because I like having Alex around.

“Sometimes you really piss me off, Maria,” Michael says, shutting the television off with the flick of the remote. He stands up and hovers over her. It’s their normal argument procedure. She continues to nag at him while he attempts to watch the hockey game, he says something in frustration, she gets mad, and the fight escalates. It’s almost comforting in its constancy, except at the moment she’s bothering him and he can’t even think straight. He’s torn between the urge to kill her and kiss her—so often the case—and he decides that neither would go over very well at the moment.

“Me? Piss _you_ off? Like you’re Mr. Easy to Get Along With all the time,” Maria replies. She crosses her arms, more to keep from strangling him, and adds, “You do something stupid and I’m made to feel like the jerk. Why is that, Michael?”

“Because you’re acting like a crazy person,” he answers. The minute the words slip out, he knows it was the wrong thing to say. Maria is fuming to the point that if it were possible, steam would be coming out of her ears. He tries to shrug it off because it’s been a long day and he’s not in the mood to grovel, and adds in a forced casual tone, “Maybe you were better off without me. You were the one who decided it was time for us to be a couple again—“

“I didn’t see you fighting me on the topic.”

“Did I say that? Would you let me finish a sentence?”

She stares at him and, when he doesn’t say anything in a timely fashion, she replies, “Well? What nuggets of wisdom do you care to share with me, Michael? I’m intrigued by this.”

“All I was saying is that if all I do is piss you off and make you feel like a jerk, you might want to reconsider who you’re dating. I mean, you and Brody seem to be getting along okay.”

Michael silently thinks up ten various responses to his comment while he waits for Maria’s retort. He really doesn’t want her anywhere near Brody. Not only because Brody often finds himself caught up in all the alien crap, but he’s British, short and way too old for Maria. He’s not sure why he says it, one of those many things he does around Maria that seldom makes sense if he were to think about it clearly. He figures it’s to get a rise out of her, to get her to the point that she plops down on the couch and stews for the remainder of the evening so he can watch his game in peace.

Maria has something else in mind, something evil and pain-inducing. She knows (okay, hopes) that he doesn’t mean it, that he doesn’t want her with Brody. Even she can read Michael well enough to know when he’s jealous—but the idea that he would say something like that...what does he think of her? Of their relationship? Does he even think at all?

If looks could kill, Michael would be a cockroach that was squashed with one of her doc martins. Smushed, smacked, and removed from her memory. She shakes her head and replies, “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I made a big mistake, spaceboy. Maybe I’ve put my life on the line for a guy who doesn’t get it at all!” She walks to the door and slams it shut behind her.

“I’m screwed,” Michael mutters, throwing a few text books to the floor in frustration. Tomorrow he’s going to have to beg for her forgiveness, never his strong point, because Maria is not going to forget this fight. This isn’t going to be one of those it’ll-all-blow-over things and he’s not quite sure what that means.

**

_(Maria POV)_

There are these questions I ask myself all the time, these thoughts that hit me while I’m serving some random truck driver his Men in Black combo…about love and relationships and all things Michael Guerin. Because, let’s face facts, I’ve managed to break the mold in terms of inept boyfriends and it can drive a girl (in this case, me) to some drastic introspection. Like is he worth it? What exactly have I gotten myself into? Why do I put up with him when he makes me this crazy? _Is he worth it?_

If you get me on a good day, between fights, I think Michael is worth the effort. I think Mr. Tough Alien Guy is actually probably one of the best people I know, despite a proclivity for wrestling and really bad taste in music. I can rattle off a list of wonderful qualities, reasons he’s been able to worm his way into my life aside from this love/hate passion thing we’ve got going. He’s loyal, trustworthy, and protective and, once he loves you…that’s it, he loves you forever.

Usually, it’s not a good day though. Usually, I’m up to my eyes in some sort of Czechoslovakian situation that rules the world around us. Usually, Michael’s other qualities—brooding and stubbornness and his severe lacking in the romance department—are much more forefront on my mind. Usually, I don’t have answers to those questions of mine.

My mother tells me to “go with the flow” and “that’s the way young love is” but I’m not so sure. I look at Max and Liz and their love is complicated and angst-ridden and still it seems better than mine, still it seems like they can look at each other and know everything will work out in the end and they’ll be together. I’m not so sure I can do that with Michael. Most of the time I see our relationship as this Polaroid picture that someone snapped of the two of us and I’m waiting to see how it develops.

Right now the film is a grayish green fog.

“Maria? Are you even listening to me? I’m sharing my emotional crisis with you and you ignore me. That’s just great,” Alex comments, pulling me from my thoughts.

I glance around the cafeteria courtyard of the school and reply, “I’m sorry, but after the twentieth round of oh-Isabel-I-have-loved, I tuned you out.”

“And to think I defended your honor. I punched Michael Guerin who could kill me, you know, because he made you cry.”

I roll my eyes, but smile at Alex as I pat his hand. Sometimes I think it would be so much easier to love a guy like Alex, the sweet, caring guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. A non-Alex Alex because that would be a weird development and sort of incestuous, but an Alex all the same.

“So what did Michael do this time?”

“Huh?”

“You have that look, that Michael destroyed my soul wounded thing.”

I shrug and respond, “It’s...he’s such a...isn’t high school supposed to be simpler than this? Aren’t our biggest worries supposed to be prom and SAT-prep?”

“Yeah, but most people aren’t friends with the royal four.”

“Tell me about.”

“You should do what I did. Cut the chord. Established boundaries.”

I shake my head and ask, “And how’s that working for you?”

“It was going pretty well for awhile there, but, had you been listening to me, you would know that I find my strong exterior crumbling like the Berlin Wall.”

I sigh and say, “That’s my problem too. Look at me, Alex. I’m pretty. I’m feisty. I’m definitely cool and worthy of adoration—so how did I end up with Michael, a guy who thinks romance is giving me a bite of his nuked burrito?”

“Because you love him?”

“Bah. Love. What is love anyway? Look at Max and Liz. They love each other and their relationship is currently weirder than a David Lynch movie.”

Alex arches his eyebrows and shoots me a dubious look. I understand his reaction. I hardly believe this myself. I used to be this big romantic. I was the girl who believed in fairy tales and princes who could sweep a girl off her feet and save her from the mundane. I’m starting to think mundane is underrated.

“Okay, for real, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not a nothing reaction to anything.”

“Don’t you ever get sick of this? Don’t you ever think maybe these people aren’t worth the trouble? Because sometimes I have a hard time convincing myself that they would do the same things for us, make these sacrifices, if the roles were reversed.”

“Uh...”

“Michael totally doesn’t get where I’m coming from. It's like I'm expected to be around when he wants me, but just supposed to disappear whenever he's bored or trying to be the big warrior guy. One minute he’s kissing me and the next he’s all over Courtney and letting the mixed signals fly. He invites me over to his apartment and proceeds to ignore me for the majority of the evening, acknowledging my presence when he needs someone to grab him a drink from the fridge. I’m more like a maid than a girlfriend.”

“Okay, well maybe—“

I cut him off, “I’m so not a maid. _The bastard_.”

“Swine.”

I glare at him and point a celery stick in his direction, “Are you mocking me?”

Alex nods yes, but responds, “Never.”

“I’m serious.”

“It sounds like you need to have a talk with Michael.”

“Hi, have you met Michael? He doesn’t believe in talking. He’s much more a grunt-once-for-yes-twice-for-no type of guy.”

“You’re not going to fix anything by talking to me.”

I roll my eyes again. I hate it when Alex is right, which is more often than not. I sigh and say, “I guess.”

“You should at least give him the chance to explain himself, even if it is in Michael speak.”

“Since when are you his cheerleader?”

“Since it’s obvious to everyone but you that Michael loves you, Maria. Not Courtney. Not Isabel. Not random girl on the street. _He loves you_.”

“It’s not like he ever says it,” I mutter. Alex is making this really hard to enjoy this sulk. I want to be the cold, aloof one for once, but if he keeps going on about how much Michael cares about me…Love. Again with that word. _Love_. I hate it. Officially hate it and am campaigning to have the word removed from existence. It’s too stressful.

I drop what’s left of my lunch into the garbage can and reply, “And he sure doesn’t act like he loves me most of the time.”

“It’s my fault. I told him tattooing your name on his arm was too cliché.”

I giggle and punch Alex in the arm. I say, “Stop it. I’m trying to be mad here. I’ve allowed myself to get worked into a tizzy and I won’t allow anyone, including you, to ruin it.”

“Far be it from me to ruin a perfectly good tizzy,” Alex counters. He stands up, dropping the remnants of his lunch in the trash, and says, “But you’re being watched.” Alex motions to where Aliens-R-Us are sitting and Michael has his eyes fixed on me.

How does he do that? How does he know that I’m really pissed off and ready to call it quits? How does he know to give me _that_ look right when I don’t want to see it the most? It’s as though he can read my mind sometimes. Though if he could read minds, I totally would not have gotten a wrench for my birthday, or currently be wondering about the status of my relationship with the idiot.

My lips betray me, curling upward in a smile in his direction. Dammit. Why can’t I be the detached one for once? Why am I always heart-on-her-sleeve girl? It’s sick.

I force my eyes away from him and focus back on Alex. I say, “Let him watch me. I’ve had it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks for the support here, Alex.”

“You know I support you, but I also know you, Maria. Michael did something last night that has you worked up and him looking like he’s going to have to kill someone to get out of apologizing.”

“Well…”

“Why not suck it up and go talk to him?”

“Suck it up? Alex, I’m _always_ the one sucking it up. Maybe it’s time for _him_ to prove himself to _me_? Did you ever think of that?” I snap. I shake my head and say, “I refuse to be the one to fix things this time. He seems to think I’d be better off with a guy like Brody and I’m beginning to think he’s right.”

“Brody? Museum Brody?”

“Yeah.”

“Brody who practically drools in your presence? Really? He doesn’t seem like your type.”

“But maybe he _should_ be. Maybe it’s time for me to cut my losses like Michael did last summer. Maybe it’s time for me to move on,” I state, getting angrier as I internalize each word and what it would mean. It’s like Michael doesn’t know me at all, that after all this time he thinks I would be better off without him. Like I would constantly put my neck on the line for someone I didn’t care about, like I would risk everything for someone who wasn’t worth my time. He’s a freaking moron and what does that say about me since I love said moron? I take a deep breath, glancing at Michael out of the corner of my eye, and then gaze at Alex as I add, “The ball is in his court.”

**

_(Michael POV)_

I’ve convinced myself that she’s going to come over here. She sees that I’m looking at her. She sees that I’m trying to get her attention. She’ll come over here. We’ll make small talk and I’ll pull her into the janitor’s closet. Simple. Fight forgotten and no need for ridiculous declarations.

Maria is having none of that though. She smiles at me, but then storms off in the opposite direction.

Shit, she’s still mad, and this isn’t like her normal Maria mad, this is something different. This is the whole situation with Courtney (I still say that doesn’t count because Maria and I were technically not back together at that point) times a thousand because Maria isn’t going to let this go in a few days. She isn’t going to wake up one morning and realize she was overreacting and that she’s the only girl I care about. Distance and time aren’t going to fix things this time.

And I think I want that. Things fixed, I mean—not distance. Because I can’t see not having them fixed as an option. Despite some of my initial doubts about her, Maria has proven to be the best sort of person to have on your side. There’s the whole kissing thing—Maria is an excellent kisser, the most perfect lips—but she’s also reliable and funny and a pretty good con artist when she has to be. And sometimes, when she’s not yapping about relationships, I have fun when she’s around.

The thing is...I’m not exactly sure what the hell I did last night. I remember her getting pissed off about something that led to another something and next thing I know I’m saying stuff I don’t mean and Maria decides to make that the moment she actually listens to a word I say. So how exactly do I handle a situation when I have no idea what she wants from me?

“What did you do to her?”

I squint up and see Alex hovering over me. This is becoming a frighteningly familiar thing—Alex standing over me with rage in his eyes. I almost expect him to punch me again and, to avoid any sort of public display at school, I stand up and say, “Walk with me, Alex.”

“What?”

I glance at Max and Isabel, who rolls their eyes, knowing this is another one of my Maria things, and I start to walk away from the courtyard. I glance back at Alex and ask, “Are you coming?”

Alex falls in step beside me and states, “This isn’t one of your normal spats, Michael. She’s pissed, _really_ pissed.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Why would you suggest she start dating Brody? Do you want her to do it? Because you know what she’s like. She’ll date him to spite you.”

“No, she won’t,” I reply coolly. I meet Alex’s uncertain expression and shrug, “No matter how mad Maria is at me, she wouldn’t date Brody just to teach me a lesson. She would never use Brody like that.”

“Well, under normal circumstances I would agree with you, Michael, but have I mentioned that she’s _really pissed off_ right now?” Alex replies. He stops walking and stares at me for a minute. He says, “I say this as your sort-of friend and one of Maria’s best friends...fix this.”

“Or what?”

“We both know that you could kick my ass, but I’m smart. Never underestimate the smart guy and his loyalty to his friends,” Alex countered, with a small gulp.

I smile and say, “I’m not going to kick your ass, Alex.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Because you’re going to help me work this out with Maria.”

“That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Nope. If I ask her to go somewhere with me, she’ll tell me to drop dead. If you invite her somewhere, she’ll go.”

“And you’ll ambush us and _she’ll_ be the one to kick my ass,” Alex finished.

I nod my head and say, “Exactly.” I pat him on the back and walk off in the opposite direction. I have a lot to do if I’m going to manage to get her to forgive me. Maria can be the most stubborn person I’ve ever met when the mood suits her and Alex is right about the unusually pissed off. I guess even Maria has her breaking points with me—I just never expected it to happen so soon.

I make my way through the main hall of the high school and notice Max waiting by my locker. It’s never a good sign. He usually only waits when he needs something or there is an alien crisis that requires my help.

I look at him and ask, “Something I can do for you, Maxwell?”

“What was that all about earlier?”

I shrug and respond, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Michael—“

“It’s a non-alien dilemma, so it really doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Fair enough, but—“

“It’s under control, Max. Maria and I had a fight. She’s pissed, Alex’s defending her honor, and I’m going to apologize.”

Max looks like he’s going to burst out laughing. My eyes narrow on him and he replies, “You’re going to apologize? That’s a big step for you, Michael. Are you sure you’re even capable of something like that?”

“This is why I said it was nothing.” I pull a book out of my locker under the pretense of actually attending class and slam it shut behind me.

I start to walk off, but Max calls out to me and I stop. I glance at him and he says, “Do you need any help?”

I think about it for a minute. On the one hand, Max has enough problems handling his own love triangle at any given moment—why get him involved in my troubles—but Max is also much more skilled at this whole romancing-the-girl thing. He could prove to be a valuable asset, someone who might manage to get Maria over this pissed off thing she’s got going at the moment.

I walk back over to him and say, “Like?”

“I know you’re new to this chivalry thing, so I could help you if you want.”

I shake my head and say, “You are pretty good at getting girls to fawn all over you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah. I can use all the help I can get.”

**

_(Maria POV)_

I stare out the window as Alex hums along with the music playing on the radio. I’m not sure how I let myself get talked into this spur-of-the-moment-it-will-be-fun-and-cheer-you-up trip to the caverns, but I’m regretting it. What I want to do is curl up in my bed and ponder the rest of my Non-Michael life because I meant what I said to Alex. I refuse to be the one to go to him. I always go to him, even when I don’t think it was my fault, and I’m sick of it. For once I’d like him to actually act like the idea of me being in his life is important, that he wants it, and not just because he thinks it will shut me up.

Since hell is more likely to freeze over than Michael Guerin is to take the first step, well, a Michael-free life it is.

“Thanks for coming along with me, Maria. I really appreciate it.”

I shrug and reply, “It’s okay. I’m not sure I understand what the big deal was about having to go today though.”

“You’re off from work and upset with Michael, and I’m avoiding anything that has to do with Isabel Evans—“

“I thought you had sworn her name from your lips?” I ask with an amused grin. Alex’s lovesick routine has always been adorable to me until I started seeing the resemblances within my own love life. Now I think the two of us should start a “Don’t Date Czechoslovakians” Club where we swear off our intergalactic pals once and for all.

Of course, I’m all talk and little action. I’ve said these things before—to myself, to my friends, even to Michael—and have yet to actually stick to the plan. It’s like I’m addicted to Michael and can’t seem to break the habit, no matter how bad for me it might be in the end.

Alex glares at me before focusing his gaze back on the road. He lets out a loud, cleansing breath and replies, “I can say her name. That’s not the problem.”

“The problem is she has you wrapped around her little finger,” I state, holding up my pinkie for emphasis.

“Exactly.”

“And a trip to the caverns will fix this?”

Alex shrugs and replies, “Hopefully it fixes something.” He smiles at me weakly before turning the radio dial up to maximum and singing along to some Radiohead song. He’s avoiding something, but I’m not in the mood to push him.

While Alex does his homage to bad karaoke, I find myself revisiting my entire relationship with Michael. If you can even call it that. When I think of love and relationships, I think of Cleopatra and Marc Anthony, Julia Roberts and Richard Gere…I’d settle for Bonnie and Clyde. I wonder if movies have ruined me for the reality of what being in a couple is. If it’s all about putting up with an annoying ape, who pays more attention to his fantasy football league than he does to you, and learning to tolerate it.

I think I’ve tolerated it for way too long. Am I really asking for so much? Is it some sort of impossible feat to expect Michael to want to be with me and to make that feeling known every once and awhile? I’m not asking for much, just a little attention thrown my way, maybe the occasional “how was your day” question where he actual listens to the reply.

When we pull up to the caverns, I immediately notice there is someone else there. I can hear music filtering into the car—is that opera?—and I see a blanket laid out over a few rocks. I step out of the car, glancing at Alex curiously, wondering if he’s seeing the same thing I am or if I’ve completely lost my mind. It’s when I look at Alex that I realize what’s going on. He’s as easy to read as a Dr. Seuss story.

I glare at him and snap, “Traitor.”

“You told me that you wanted him to make the effort. Your exact words were—“

“I know what my words were, Alex,” I reply. I cross my arms and take in the ambiance. The music is a soft hum, the aroma of pizza wafts through the air, and Michael is standing there with this ridiculous deer-caught-in-the-headlights sort of look on his face. I want to maintain my tough facade, but it gets harder when I notice the picnic set up by the rocks.

Who is this guy and what did he do with the real Michael Guerin?

Alex clears his throat and asks, “Is it safe for me to leave you in his capable hands?”

I nod and say, “Don’t think I’ll forget this, Whitman. I’ll own you tomorrow.”

Alex mutters under his breath, motions for me to move forward, and hops back in his car. I glance at him, but my eyes linger back over to Michael. I’m not sure what I should do. I’ve been perfecting this fury toward him all day and then he does this...

“Hey. You came.”

“I was misinformed as to what I was doing,” I reply. I try to maintain an edge to my voice, but it’s pretty much dissipated into the night air. I point to the blanket and comment, “You’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, well, I figured you were still pissed and—“

“And you think this will get you off the hook?” I ask. I move closer to him. It’s a dangerous move because whenever I find myself around Michael the urge to kiss him is always so close to the surface.

“You tell me, Maria.”

I shake my head and say, “Michael, you’re completely missing the point here.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t need this to forgive you.”

“You could’ve told me that earlier,” he replies. He tilts his head and stares at me for a minute in this very daunting way, a way that makes me feel too easy to read under his gaze. He smiles and adds, “But I guess you deserve a night considering all you put up with.”

“Michael!”

“What?”

“You don’t—you always do this. I’m firm. I make up my mind to finally stop being some sort of alien doormat and then you look at me like I'm the only thing you care about and do something sweet...look at me,” I pause and motion to where my hand is shaking slightly before continuing, “Bye, bye resolve.”

I glare at him when he laughs. He actually laughs at me. He extends his hand for me to take it and before my brain can remind me that I’m still mad at him, I’ve already allowed him to pull me close. I take a deep breath and force myself to meet his gaze. I roll my eyes and say, “You’re a bastard.”

“Yeah.”

“You need to decide if we’re in a relationship or not, Michael. I can’t keep doing this back and forth crap. I _won’t_ do it anymore. It’s tiring enough watching Liz and Max doing it.”

He arches his eyebrows at me and questions, “I thought we were already in a relationship?”

“Fine, then you need to act like it.”

“If you’re looking for flowers and—“

”I’m willing to start small, Michael. I’d settle for acknowledging my presence every so often.”

He nods and says, “I can do that.”

“And actually looking pleased to see me.”

“Does this include when you’re acting crazy?”

“ _Especially_ when I’m acting crazy,” I reply. I look around the area and I try to shake the silly delirium I’m feeling out of me. It’s ridiculous. The fact that Michael can cause such mood swings in me. I question aloud, “Why do I put up with you?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sorry I make it so difficult to be a part of my life sometimes.”

I smile and reply, “Spaceboy! You apologized.” I nudge him in the side and go on, “See, it wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“Don’t push it, Maria.”

“And don’t push me away, Michael.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“ _You_ make me happy, moron,” I reply. Off the incredulous look on his face, I say, “Well, you make me happy when you’re not behaving like some sort of Cro-Magnon man.”

“Good, because you make me happy too.”

I stare at him for a minute. I’m not sure what to say. I’m not used to having conversations with Michael about feelings when he’s not bolting out of the room and swearing that we can’t be together. This is something new and I wish there was a way to freeze time so I could capture this moment in my hands and bottle it up. I lean forward and press my lips against his for a brief kiss. I pull away and reply, “Sometimes you pleasantly surprise me, Michael.”

“Can I remind you of that next time you’re in a bad mood?”

“As long as you’re not the one causing it,” I respond sweetly.

“So do you want to eat? I’m starving,” Michael replies, pointing to the set-up on the blankets. When I turn to walk away, he kisses the top of my head and adds, “I really am sorry, Maria.”

“I know,” I state. I spin around and push my finger into his chest and add, “But if you ever mention me dating Brody or anyone else in a conversation, I’ll run you over with my car and refuse to let Max heal you until you’ve learned your lesson. Got it?”

He nods and takes my hand in his. He kisses it and says, “Sometimes I like this evil streak of yours.”

I shrug and say, “Careful what you wish for, buddy.” I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his chest for a minute. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand this thing between myself and Michael—it’s a volatile thing at times, but it’s one of those few real things I have in my life.

And that Polaroid picture is becoming a bit clearer with every passing moment.

_{Fin}_


End file.
